Mind, Body, Light, Sound
by Dulllahan
Summary: Once, I was mortal. It hurts to remember that. (Will eventually be a series.)


I forget that I was once mortal, and that I was once me. I gave an entity life by simply being. And forgetting. It was complicated, I guess.

There are times when I become nothing more than a concept, and I should have realized that when I took the responsibility of being Sheogorath. Gods were weird like this. I could be everywhere, and not. I could be nowhere and still be here. It's hard to explain, when it's a completely abstract concept that only I can experience and find as a new thing.

I want to tell you about it, I really do, but it's like trying to explain sound to a deaf person. It's like trying to describe color without using that color as an adjective. Nothing describes my state of being.

The closest word is "godhood." That's far from what it actually is, it's more of being the thing you're the god of. Madness is weird. Being madness is even weirder.

I don't know the future like Daedra should. I know the past, and all iterations of the past, and every outcome that could have happened, but something blocks the future. I want to know the future. It scares me. I don't know what will happen, and I've never felt safe because of it. Even though I'm Sheogorath. The god. Who let me accept this? Who let me be him?

Why am I him? Why am I anyone, except myself? That's what confuses me. I vaguely remember who I am, I was a hero, I knew Martin Septim (wonderful fellow, by the way) and I had some part in the Oblivion Crisis. Yes, I could read a book on me. But for some reason, when I try, it omits. Something blocks me from reading about, and therefore knowing, who I am.

I kind of remember my birthday. Mad Pelagius Day. I find it ironic, knowing that. I also remember where I lived before this, back in Bruma, I think that little shack is still there. I remember. I remember. Bor-ing. I want a do-over. Something like that. What am I doing?

Right. I was talking about something. Sadness? Yes. Me, and how I don't like being me. Let's talk about that, perhaps? Yeah. Let's get back on track.

What I wouldn't do to be dead instead of immortal. What I wouldn't do to be in Uriel Septim's place, instead of here and really messed up. Because this is hell. Worse than hell. I don't know who I am and I have a responsibility to keep an entire realm, which is also me somehow, in a perpetual state of myself. It's easy, in theory. But yeah, death, dreariness, confusion, all that. Hate it. I can be happy, but it's weird feeling. It feels like I fake it. I kind of detach from myself, get lost in thought and lose control when I put on that visage. And I don't want to get out of control. So I don't do it often.

So I end up being a depressed maniac sitting on a throne made of the fabric of my very being a lot of the time. I can just split off and observe Nirn, but what's the fun when it's in this state? I want to go back, I say sometimes. Back to what? I ask myself. And I humor myself until I forget.

This is the kind of being that breaks men into gibbering fools. Maybe I am one, at this point, I wouldn't doubt it. I don't know.

I stop monologuing for a second, realizing where I am. I kind of recognized it... Yes. Emperor Pelagius' mind. Must have been sidetracked by that comment about my birthday, disappeared for however long I was here. Time is funny, never really had a grasp on it, even as a mortal.

I was talking to someone, in my manic state. Seems familiar. They're Dragonborn, I can tell just looking at their soul. She comes back to where I placed myself on this plane of existence. She's a Bosmer, and I can tell she's a seasoned mage and warrior just by her getup.

"Fixed his mind," she said, breathing a bit heavily. "I'm done. Go back to the Isles like we agreed."

I pondered for a quantum (what does quantum even _mean_?) moment. "Hm. 'Fixed' is… is such a subjective term. I think 'treated' is far more appropriate, don't you? Like one does to a rash, or an arrow in the face." She made an odd expression at that comment. "Ah, but no matter. Mortal that you are, you've actually succeeded and survived. I am _forced_ to honor my end of the bargain. So _con-grat-ul-ations_! You're free to go!" I say, waving my hand dismissively.

Something about it gave me a gut feeling that made me realize something was different than what it should be. Literally.


End file.
